


The Stars Have Gone So Far

by Jenwryn



Category: Merlin (BBC)
Genre: Future Fic, Love, M/M, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-14
Updated: 2010-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-08 22:41:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/80240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur is the king, Merlin is his warlock, the pair of them are travelling for some unspecified but non-urgent reason – and the author supplies utterly no backstory to support any of these statements, because that's really not the point at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Stars Have Gone So Far

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tierfal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tierfal/gifts).



> Title comes from D.H. Lawrence's poem "Winter Dawn".
> 
> There is a podfic version [here](http://audiofic.jinjurly.com/stars-have-gone-so-far) (at Jinjurly's Archive), simply because this is apparently what I like to spend my mid-term holidays doing. :P

Night hasn't quite begun to fold at the edges yet, when Merlin wakes. His neck is sore from having slept on an angle he isn't accustomed to, and he opens his mouth to grumble in automatic protest – except that the sudden awareness of human warmth reminds him of the _why_, and he stops. He stays silent. Stays still. Lets his mind trace the shape of Arthur against him; the truth of him, against Merlin's skin.

Outside, the camp is still quiet, only the jingling of the horses, and the murmur of the men on guard; the soft pop and hush of wood fires that knights and soldiers alike will be holding their hands towards, finding comfort in the brilliant glow. There's a slight gap in the tent, where Merlin's eyes stare, and he can see a star hovering, almost uncertainly, near the distant horizon. The air is chill against Merlin's face, against the fronts of his arms, but that simply makes the warmth of Arthur – Arthur, steady against Merlin's shoulders – Arthur, his leg against Merlin's thigh – that simply makes the warmth of Arthur all the better. Merlin would probably still pull up the blankets, though, except that he really doesn't want to move. Not now. Not yet. This is all so new, like a just-birthed thing blinking at the dawn, and Merlin can barely breathe for the spin of it through his body.

As if by magic – not Merlin's type of magic, but an earthier kind, more grounded than the Old Religion, even, that smells of skin and salt and Arthur – the blankets are tugged up higher around Merlin's shoulders at that moment anyway, and Merlin does move, then. One of Arthur's arms slides around him as Merlin turns, as Merlin burrows his side into the furs beneath them, and gazes at Arthur's face. Arthur has his eyes half closed – hooded, lazy, _beautiful_ – and there is a smile lurking about their corners.

"Would it kill you," Arthur is mumbling, "to stop thinking so loudly? I swear that's what woke me. It's that inexplicable brain of yours, Merlin, going chug chug chug."

Merlin can't help but grin. "I think it's more of a _whir_ than a _chug_, don't you?"

Arthur's hand tightens on Merlin's hip, kneads against his skin, simply there, simply _being;_ simply staking his claim, as if his claim had not already been placed, accepted, and welcomed, silently, so many seasons before either of them would ever have dreamt to mention it. The air puffs white between them. Part of Merlin wants Arthur to say something, wants Arthur's voice to _speak_ his claim as loudly Arthur's body does – they're still so new to this, and Merlin can't help but want the things that he wants—

Arthur curls his hand, stretches a finger, strokes at Merlin's side, and Merlin tells his needy, nagging heart to accept what it's been given.

Outside, the sky is growing brighter, the heavy cloth of the tent lightening with it. Horses whinny, water splashes, a man swears loudly and another man laughs in response.

"You know, Merlin," says Arthur, musing and amused, his eyes closed again, as if he would go back to sleep for just a little longer. "You were supposed to keep quiet. About us."

Merlin stares at him. "I did. I mean, I have, I mean—"

He hasn't told a soul, really, well, Gaius, yes, but Gaius had somehow already known of his own accord, because clearly Gaius is omniscient and has been for years, so technically—

"It's written all over your _face_, Merlin," Arthur continues. His voice is pretending annoyance, but his thumb is marking soft lines against Merlin's skin, smooth and gentle, and Merlin loves the feel of it so much that he's almost unwell with the liking.

Merlin clears his throat, moves to apologise, then finds his mouth diverting the thought without permission and, instead, asking, in a curious, cautious tone, "Do you mind that they know?"

The tent is growing ever lighter, shadows stretching and shifting. Outside, someone is frying eggs.

Arthur's face moves in the way it does when he's thinking deeply, _considering_, weighing and testing ideas in his mind. His eyes are almost surprised, as he opens them, as he studies Merlin, and admits, "Not so very much. Certainly not as much as I'm sure I rather ought to."

The stupidest part of Merlin's brain wants to propel him into some kind of happy dance, but he informs it, sternly, that that way lies madness, and probably having to make breakfast. And it's cold out. And he doesn't want to leave here, not for anything, not even for delighted, incoherently joyful victory prancing, not when Arthur has that expression on his face, all fond and amused and accepting. Not when Arthur is so very warm against him – and, just possibly, _his_.

It goes without saying that Merlin has been Arthur's forever.

Arthur shifts his hold a little; pulls Merlin in closer, embraces him, holds him steady, wriggles downwards in the furs and blankets, rests his head against Merlin's shoulder, and closes his eyes again.

"Now do shut up, Merlin," he orders, "and let a man sleep in while he can."

Merlin beams, and does his best to obey.


End file.
